


Rubies and Pearls

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Awkward Boners, Blood Drinking, Car Sex, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Except it’s a wagon, Finger Sucking, Grinding, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Fixation, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, The return of Arthur feeling like john can do better than him but also wanting john heyo, Vampires inspired by the non kill-y kind on v wars i guess, Voyeurism, Wet & Messy, vampire Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: The fangs retract and Arthur starts to feed from him.John moves his hands up, wrapping his fingers around Arthur’s collar.“A-Art,” John whispers, a heat starting in his cheeks and creeping down his chest.Arthur hums questioningly against his neck, lightly massaging his thumb into the top of John’s thigh.“I’m… Why’s it feel so-?” John takes in a shaky breath and gives up, leans his weight into Arthur, the obvious bulge in his trousers pressing against Arthur’s lower stomach.All the effects seem to be stronger than the first time.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mild dub con is for the fact that this kind of vamp has a venom that lowers inhibitions and increases sensitivity to stimulation 
> 
> there will be some bloodplay later but this is p mild so  
> also if there's more mistakes than normal i have the gd flu

“You know I’m willin’,” John says quietly, glancing between Arthur and their campfire, “I’ve told you that.”

Arthur tiredly focuses on him, looking pale. 

Drained.

“Don’t like seein’ you like this,” John whispers. 

“I’ll hunt in the mornin’, John,” Arthur sighs and rubs at the cold sweat on his temple, “Same as always.”

“But you don’t _have to,”_ John insists, frustration growing within him, “There’s no reason to starve, Arthur.”

John trails off, muttering insincere curses.

"You know it hurts right?" Arthur asks quietly, "And that there's that sedatin' thing from it?"

"Yeah, I know," John says stiffly, "I don't care."

Arthur studies him for a few seconds then stands, slowly moving over to John's bedroll and kneeling.

"Lay down," Arthur whispers and John sees the tips of the older man's fangs starting to crown. 

John scoots to one half of his bedroll and stretches out on his back, watching Arthur. 

"You feel any kinda bad, you tell me to stop," Arthur says firmly, "Alright?"

"Sure."

Arthur licks his lips anxiously then lowers himself until he's propped on his elbows, caging in John. 

He can hear John’s heart beating faster as he lowers his mouth to the younger man’s neck. 

John inhales sharply when Arthur’s fangs scrap over the corded muscle in his neck. 

“You sure?” Arthur whispers, warm breath sending a shiver down John’s spine. 

“Yeah,” John murmurs, stretching his neck to give Arthur more room, “Go ‘head.”

Arthur makes a quiet, low sound and bites. 

John tenses against the sting, hands instinctively moving to grip Arthur’s sides. 

Arthur’s lips settle on his skin and slowly John feels a tingling warmth spreading from his neck out to the rest of his body. 

“Oh,” John whispers, flexing his fingers and twisting his holds on Arthur’s shirt. 

Arthur makes a small, questioning sound, moving one hand to cup the opposite side of John’s neck. 

“You… You’ve talked ‘bout it, before,” John murmurs, his eyelids feeling heavy, “What it does, the venom.”

Arthur hums against his neck and John gasps as the fangs withdraw and Arthur’s lips form a seal around the feeding wound. 

John’s toes curl in his socks he squirms and his legs bend at the knee, moving to frame Arthur’s hips. 

“Sh-Shit,” John whispers, closing his eyes tight as his cock hardens in his drawers and he squeezes Arthur’s hips with his knees.

Arthur’s thumb rubs over the underside of his jaw and John tries to control his breathing, a small whimper escaping him. 

Arthur shifts above him and starts to pull back, lifting up to look down at John who turns his head away, cheeks burning. 

“Y’alright?” Arthur whispers, voice seeming lower, richer. 

“Y-yeah,” John says nervously. 

He feels drunk and amped up at the same time. 

“You sure?” Arthur asks, obviously concerned, his eyes moving from John’s face to the younger man’s neck. 

“You… You can keep goin’,” John swallows thickly, twisting his fists in Arthur’s shirt, “I’m fine.”

Arthur watches him for a few seconds then leans back down, gently re-opening the wounds and continuing to drink. 

John opens his eyes to stare up at the night sky. 

Everything seems clearer, the stars brighter, the tree limbs in his peripheral sharper. 

His fingers continue to bend and flex in the cotton and he can’t stop himself from squirming slightly, a pulsing need in his gut. 

Arthur’s hand on his neck slides up into his hair and slowly pulls, stretching John’s neck further to the side before Arthur’s fangs dig in again, deeper. 

John gasps, his legs shifting before squeezing Arthur’s hips harder, closing his eyes tighter until his head throbs, whining weakly. 

Arthur pulls off again, shifting up pressing his palm to the wound and staring at John seriously. 

“Too much?” 

“I don’t know,” John whispers, keeping his eyes closed. 

“S’it hurt?” Arthur asks quietly, fingers absent-mindedly petting over John’s head, “It can be worse for some people.”

“No…” John takes a shaky breath in and opens his eyes, looking up at Arthur, “No, it don’t hurt, not badly.”

Arthur moves his hand to cup John’s cheek, manipulating the younger man’s face towards the firelight. 

“You must be sensitive to it,” Arthur says quietly, “Your eyes’ve gone all dark.”

John swallows thickly then frantically grabs onto Arthur when the older man moves to straighten up.

“No, no,” John says worriedly, feeling his face burning, “Wait.”

“What?”

“Just… Hold on,” John averts his eyes and holds Arthur in place, “I…”

“You sure you ain’t hurtin’?”

“I’m fine,” John says weakly. 

“Then let me get up, John.”

John’s face pinches in embarrassment and he lets go of Arthur, curling his hands into fists next to his sides. 

Arthur backs up, kneeling between John’s thighs and frowning down at the younger. 

“... Oh,” Arthur murmurs after a moment. 

“Sorry,” John says weakly. 

“That’s… Uh,” Arthur presses his lips together shifting his weight awkwardly, “Huh.”

"Sorry," John repeats, even weaker, because he can't think of anything else to say.

"It's… Alright," Arthur's brows are furrowed, eyes unfocused staring over John's head when the younger finally musters the courage to look back up. 

"You… You got enough?" John whispers and Arthur's eyes snap to his. 

The older man's expression softens before Arthur shuffles and stands off the bedroll.

"Plenty, Johnny," Arthur says gently, "You should try n' sleep off the effects."

"Alright," John mumbles and rubs at his eyes, curling up on his side towards Arthur. 

\--

"Would you… You still open to lettin' me…?" Arthur asks quietly as they sit in the back of their parked wagon. 

A couple thousand freshly minted next to them, the train they intercepted several hours behind them. 

"You need to?" John asks, concern filtering into his voice, "Thought you caught somethin' yesterday."

"I… Heal better with a real feedin'," Arthur mutters, lifting his bandaged arm up slightly. 

A bullet had grazed his forearm as they were making their getaway. 

"You don't gotta ask," John says, "When I said you could drink from me, I meant whenever, y'know?" 

'Forever, as long as we're together,' goes unsaid. 

"How do you wanna…?" Arthur asks tiredly as he gestures around them, the limited space. 

"Up to you."

John can hear Arthur swallow thickly before the older man holds out his hand. 

“C’mere.”

John takes the older man’s hand and goes easily as Arthur guides him into his lap, more on one thigh than centered. 

“This alright?” Arthur murmurs, removing his hand from John’s and settling it instead on the outside of John’s thigh. 

John nods slowly, reaching up to move his hair out of the way.

They both sit, unmoving for several awkward seconds.

“Do I-“

“Are you-“

Both stop, John ducking his head slightly and Arthur sighing. 

“Just-“ Arthur mutters and cups John’s jaw with his other hand, fingers curling in the hair at John’s nape. 

He pulls the younger man closer, until he can brush his nose over the warm skin of the crook of John’s neck. 

John’s hands tentatively settle on Arthur’s stomach, the younger man tilting his head invitingly. 

Arthur breathes out harshly, not sure how to explain the feeling that rockets through him at the gesture. 

John’s blatant trust, unquestioning willingness to help the older man. 

Arthur carefully finds the right spot, where the blood rushing is the loudest, the rich, metallic, life-giving liquid so close to the surface, vulnerable and tempting and-

Arthur sinks his fangs in, a little rougher than he intends to, gripping John’s thigh tightly. 

John makes a small noise then bites his tongue, hard. 

His fingers curl involuntarily as that same warmth spreads through him.

His thoughts start to feel more hazy, more basic. 

His gut clenches and he unconsciously presses closer to Arthur. 

The fangs retract and Arthur starts to feed from him. 

John moves his hands up, wrapping his fingers around Arthur’s collar. 

“A-Art,” John whispers, a heat starting in his cheeks and creeping down his chest. 

Arthur hums questioningly against his neck, lightly massaging his thumb into the top of John’s thigh.

“I’m… Why’s it feel so-?” John takes in a shaky breath and gives up, leans his weight into Arthur, the obvious bulge in his trousers pressing against Arthur’s lower stomach.

All the effects seem to be stronger than the first time. 

Arthur tenses in surprise then slowly pulls off, sitting back against the wall of the wagon. 

He uses his grip on John’s hair to pull the younger man back, squinting at John’s eyes in the lantern-light. 

“S’not real common,” Arthur says quietly, knowing that his venom has made John sensitive to all stimulation, “But it can happen. You’re just… More affected.”

John breathes slowly, dropping one hand to press down on his aching cock, looking at Arthur hazily, pupils blown-wide. 

“John,” Arthur says hesitantly, “I think I didn’t wait long ‘nough since the last time.”

John makes a confused noise, pressing his head into Arthur’s hand. 

“You can have too much of this shit runnin’ through you,” Arthur adjusts his hand to cradle the weight of John’s head. 

“Feels good,” John whispers, a bit of clarity coming to his eyes, “Dangerous?” 

“Nah… Not really,” Arthur murmurs. 

“More?” John asks on a breath, the hand not on his cock moving to the older man’s shoulder. 

“Ain’t sure that’s a good idea, Johnny,” Arthur says slowly, “Gotta get back to the gang, and if you’re all… All funny… Well-“

“Yeah,” John murmurs, “Alright.”

“Do you want me to step out?” Arthur asks, embarrassment bouncing around within him, equally matched by a desire he’s pointedly not acknowledging. 

John lowers his gaze to Arthur’s chest and shrugs. 

“If… If you wanna-“ Arthur clears his throat quietly, fingers flexing, pressing into John’s scalp and thigh, “You can.”

John tilts his head to press the side of his face into Arthur’s palm, pressing his leg outwards into Arthur’s touch at the same time. 

Somehow overstimulated and yet desperately craving more. 

Arthur’s gaze flicks quickly over John in the younger man’s entirety. 

“Is this…” Arthur pointedly squeezes John’s thigh and rubs his thumb over John’s cheek, “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” John says shakily, almost a whimper, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder and his own cock. 

“Fuck,” Arthur mutters under his breath. 

“Everythin’s… Everythin’s _a lot,”_ John says weakly, “But it’s _good.”_

“Alright,” Arthur says, feeling a twinge of guilt in his gut at putting John in this state, “Alright, I got you.”

John whines lowly and closes his eyes, grinding the heel of his palm down his confined length. 

“John, you… You oughta,” Arthur hums in frustration and pulls John’s handkerchief from the younger man’s pocket, “Don’t make a mess.”

John turns his head a little further until his mouth is pressed to Arthur’s fingers, the older man watching in confusion. 

Then John takes two of Arthur’s fingers into his mouth, sucking slowly. 

Arthur’s lips part, watching the younger man in wide-eyed surprise. 

John’s hand moves between them to open his trousers and drawers.

Hips rocking, fucking into his fist, taking Arthur’s fingers deeper into his mouth, opening his eyes to meet the older man’s stunned gaze.

“Jesus,” Arthur whispers, his cock twitching in his drawers. 

“Ah,” John whimpers around Arthur’s fingers, squeezing his base, pre-cum dripping down his length. 

“Y-You close?” Arthur asks, tearing his eyes away from John’s lips around his fingers, glancing down at the younger man’s cock. 

He feels a twisting in his gut at the sight and quickly looks back up to John’s face. 

John’s labored breathing warms his palm as he watches the younger man’s face crumple, John whining loudly, pulling back, curling over himself, quickly grabbing his handkerchief and cupping it over the head of his cock, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder and pressing his face into the older man’s neck. 

“Arthur, Arthur, Ar-“ John gasps and sobs, coming into the handkerchief. 

Arthur very carefully holds himself still, his hands hovering over John’s knees, not wanting to risk John shifting and feeling the bulge straining his trousers. 

“Nn,” John slowly sits back, straightening up and looking down at himself, trying to catch his breath. 

“Shit,” Arthur mutters and wraps his hands around John’s waist, lifting the younger man up and setting him down to the side, climbing out of the wagon, John watching him go with a returning clarity, and a building nausea. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a semi-graphic description of arthur imagining the aftermath of losing control and hurting john

Arthur paces, about a half-mile into the forest, slowly shuffling between the pines, back and forth for many minutes. 

Then he curses under his breath and stops in front of one tree, slowly undoing his laces, stomach churning with uncertainty. 

He takes hold of himself and rests his forearm against the tree, looking down at his fingers curled around his cock. 

Arthur tries to keep his breathing even before bringing his hand back up and spitting into it, closing his eyes and re-gripping himself. 

The warm, slick pressure surrounding his cock isn’t anything close to a mouth but that’s what he’s imagining. 

John’s mouth, those dark eyes looking up at him, hazy, needy, willing. 

Too willing, pupils huge, blood dripping down from the gashes in the side of his neck, the obvious mark of a too-eager vampire. 

Arthur quickly opens his eyes, hand stilled. 

Guilt building, cause he knew. 

He knew how John had reacted, he knew it would happen again, he _knew_ he didn’t really need to feed again, he just wanted the convenience of healing faster. 

Arthur bites the inside of his cheek and slowly resumes stroking himself, tries to picture past lovers, vague faces. 

But all he sees is brown eyes and messy hair and John’s expression as the younger man sucked on his fingers, John’s voice as he came saying Arthur’s name.

“Shit,” Arthur whispers, squeezing himself to fight off the urge before closing his eyes tight enough to see sparks of light on the backs of his eyelids, stroking himself faster, messier, desperate. 

“Shit,” Arthur whispers again, a little closer to a whimper, voice pitching up before he gasps, pressing his face into the crook of his elbow, hips jerking into his hand, cock twitching as come pulses onto the base of the tree. 

He muffles a quiet cry with his arm. 

It doesn’t sound like English, certainly not a name. 

No one would know if they happened to hear it. 

But he’s damn sure he just said ‘John’.

\--

“I’m sorry,” John whispers as soon as Arthur’s head pops into the canvas cover on the wagon, the older man pausing in his effort to climb inside. 

John’s moved to lay down, curled up into a small ball, tucked into a corner of the wagon. 

His face is red, hair clinging to his temples and cheeks and Arthur swallows hard when he realizes the younger man has been crying. 

While Arthur was out being a coward, jerking off on a tree. 

Arthur swallows again and pulls himself the rest of the way into the wagon. 

Slowly lowering himself to sit next to John’s head. 

“You don’t gotta be,” Arthur whispers. 

“I… I thought ‘cause I knew what to expect it’d be fine but it…” John makes a weak noise, tired and confused and hurt and too many other emotions he doesn’t want to analyze, “I didn’t mean to.” 

He just wants to sleep. 

But not before he knows how Arthur’s thinking. 

“It’s…” Arthur sighs and lowers his hand, cleaned in the river, to graze his fingertips over John’s hair, “It’s alright, John. I… I wasn’t expectin’ _that,_ but I had a feelin’ you’d react the same way as the first time.”

“Is it gon’ be like that every time?” John asks hesitantly. 

“... I ain’t sure,” Arthur says honestly, “Look if- You don’t gotta let me, if you don’t wanna. I ain’t gon’ hold it against you.”

“Can… Can we try n’ space it out?” John asks, almost timid, “So it ain’t so much?”

“Shit, _yeah,”_ Arthur says quickly, “I wasn’t thinkin’ tonight, you’d never normally feed from someone that close together. S’why we tend to not stick in one place, y’know?”

“Oh,” John whispers, rubbing his wrist over his eyes slowly, “Still feel funny.”

“You oughta try n’ sleep it off again, alright?” Arthur asks gently, brushing John’s hair back. 

John hums his assent quietly, then hesitantly reaches out, curling his fingers around the side seam of Arthur’s pants. 

Just holding tightly, scared the older man might leave again. 

\--

“Can… Can I ask you for somethin’?” John whispers as they’re riding back into camp, John sitting behind Arthur’s saddle, one arm limp across his lap, the other wrapped around Arthur’s waist. 

“... Yes,” Arthur says hesitantly. 

“I… In your tent, I mean,” John says slowly. 

“... Sure.”

\--

With John’s shoulder back in place he slumps back on Arthur’s bed, rubbing at his teary eyes. 

“Has it been long ‘nough?” John asks quietly. 

“What?”

“For you to feed ‘gain?”

_“What?”_ Arthur repeats, a little sharper, “Why?”

“It… I was… I was in pain, just sore, achy, the last time,” John murmurs, “It went away, when the venom shit kicked in.”

“... Oh.”

“So, has it?”

Arthur studies him for a moment then nods slowly. 

“Do you want to?” John whispers, looking up at Arthur tiredly. 

Arthur’s lips part with want to speak but nothing comes out. 

“If the same thing as last time happens?” Arthur asks. 

“... Do you care?” 

“Do I-?” Arthur swallows and rubs at his temples, “Jesus. Yeah, I _care.”_

“... Oh,” John whispers, quieter, timid. 

Arthur stares at the blades of grass under the toes of John’s boots where they’re barely grazing the ground. 

Looks over John, the way the younger man looks totally comfortable, open and vulnerable, sprawled on Arthur’s bed. 

He’s too aware of his control over John, the younger man too trusting of him. 

“... Scoot up,” Arthur says quietly, gesturing to the head of the bed. 

John frowns at him in confusion but follows the order without hesitation. 

Arthur takes off his holsters, shoves off his suspenders and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. 

Half stalling, half trying to calm himself. 

“Take your boots off,” Arthur mutters as he does the same, hearing the quiet thump-thump behind him of John’s boots hitting the ground. 

He turns to see John watching him, trying to read him. 

Arthur walks to the cot and slowly crawls on, lifting himself over John, kneeling between the younger man’s legs, like the first time they did this. 

“Move your hair,” Arthur says quietly. 

He could do it himself. 

He could, but he doesn’t want to, he wants John to do it for him. 

John lifts up slightly and sweeps a hand under his hair, pulling it up and letting it fall into a lopsided halo on Arthur’s pillow. 

The older man breathes out slowly then leans in. 

He hadn’t been particularly in need, nor hungry, now he feels starved. 

Too eager. 

He purposefully restrains himself from biting right away, recalling the image of John’s throat torn open that his brain had helpfully conjured. 

He brushes his lips against John’s collarbone, moving up the younger man’s neck to the faded scars he’d left. 

“Just…” Arthur murmurs against John’s throat, “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

John takes in a deep breath then nods. 

Arthur sinks his fangs in, feeling John’s hands move to grasp at his sides, more familiar, the way the younger man’s thin fingers curve around Arthur’s ribs. 

Arthur opens his mouth a little more, sinks his fangs deeper, through the scar tissue, into the vein he’d favored before. 

Hears John’s stuttering gasp in his ear. 

Then, after a moment, a quiet whimper, John’s fingers clenching in his shirt, the younger man’s legs cradling Arthur’s hips. 

Arthur hesitates then very slowly lowers himself to his forearms, pressing his body along John’s, letting his weight brush his hips against John’s. 

“Oh fuck,” John whispers hoarsely, arms moving to wrap around Arthur’s back, clinging, “Arthur.”

The older man makes small sound, something he hopes translates as encouragement, then retracts his fangs and begins to feed. 

John’s tense under him, desperately trying to hold himself still before making a weak apologetic sound, grinding up against Arthur, his lower legs wrapping around the backs of Arthur’s thighs. 

Arthur can’t stop the quiet groan against John’s neck, his hips jerking down in response. 

“Art… Is it… Can we?” John asks breathlessly, nearly begging. 

“Yeah,” Arthur murmurs against John’s neck, moving down and biting in time with his hips thrusting against John. 

He shifts himself to align their cocks, nestling their bodies like puzzle pieces falling into place. 

John’s breathing is labored in his ear, the younger man squeezing him tightly, eyes closed, lips parted, small noises escaping him with each grind.

Arthur presses more of his weight down on John, lingering with his fangs embedded, letting his venom flood John’s veins. 

“Please,” John whispers weakly, “Please, please, Arthur… _Shit.”_

Arthur retracts his fangs and lingers, gently cleaning the blood that trickles from the wounds, but pointedly not feeding anymore, letting the venom take full effect. 

John squirms under him, whining and panting, hips rocking without rhythm, crying out softly, pressing his cheek against Arthur’s temple. 

Arthur holds himself still, lets John work for it, listening to the weak begging and feeling John’s helpless thrusts up against him. 

He drags his tongue over the feeding mark and sucks on the skin near it, wanting the mark to be bigger, darker, a more obvious claim.

“Arthur- I’m-” John clenches his jaw, back arching and legs tensing, “Please?”

“You can,” Arthur whispers, “Come, John.”

“Fuck,” John whimpers and digs his nails into Arthur’s back, gasping as his hips stutter, cock twitching beneath the layers of fabric, a wet spot slowly seeping through to show on his light trousers. 

Arthur lifts himself up to look down at John, the younger man’s cheeks a deep pink, John’s eyes hazy as he stares up at the older man in shock. 

Arthur shuffles closer, until John’s hips are in his lap and he doesn’t need his arms to support himself. 

He watches John’s chest rise and fall raggedly, rests his hand over John’s sternum. 

Moves it up to brush his knuckles under the sharp line of John’s jaw. 

Then up further, brushing his fingertips over John’s bitten-raw bottom lip. 

John watches him with wide eyes, letting his lips part. 

Arthur swallows his uncertainty and presses his fingers in further. 

John’s eyelids lower slightly and the younger man opens his mouth wider, letting Arthur push his fingers in to the last knuckle before sealing his lips around Arthur’s fingers and sucking. 

“Jesus,” Arthur whispers, “You want that, John?” 

John nods minutely, pressing his tongue up against the underside of Arthur’s fingers. 

“This s’not the same, though,” Arthur edges, loving the way John’s eyes are struggling to stay open, shuttering almost closed before fighting to look up at Arthur, “Is it easier?”

John half-heartedly shrugs, moving his hands to the front of Arthur’s shirt, opening his mouth briefly to tilt his head up, forcing Arthur’s fingers deeper. 

“Is it better?” Arthur whispers, “You like it more?”

John shakes his head, shortly but without hesitation. 

“Shit,” Arthur whispers and turns his face to the side, pressing his mouth to his upper arm to muffle himself. 

He isn’t looking, and isn’t expecting John’s hand to move down, fingertips grazing over Arthur’s clothed cock, not quite able to reach. 

Arthur muffles a weak sound then uses his free arm to pull John up, getting the younger man sitting in his lap. 

John takes a minute to re-balance himself then squeezes Arthur’s cock through the material while gently bobbing his head, sucking Arthur’s fingers. 

“John,” Arthur says on a breath, hesitating, meeting the younger man’s eyes then pulling down on John’s lower teeth, forcing the younger man’s mouth open. 

He can feel spit dripping down his palm but he really doesn’t fucking care. 

“Take me out,” Arthur whispers, not showing his nervousness over possibly being rejected. 

John makes a small sound around Arthur’s fingers and eagerly undoes the closure, quickly getting his hands around Arthur’s cock. 

One hand’s thumb brushing over the slit while his other hand moves down the underside, lightly playing over Arthur’s balls. 

Arthur makes a strangled sound and John tries to speak around his fingers. 

Arthur drags his soaked fingers down John’s chin and neck.

_“Please,_ holy shit, Arthur,” John begs quietly. 

“What?”

“Want you in my mouth.”


End file.
